


A Crash Course in Color

by Char_ismatic



Series: A Study in Black and White [2]
Category: youtube - Fandom
Genre: Accident, Angst, Anxiety, Art, Happy Ending?, Healing, Painting, Photography, Recovery, Sad, Trauma, a study in black and white, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-13 21:17:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9142675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Char_ismatic/pseuds/Char_ismatic
Summary: Sean tries not to get his hopes up too often, he really does. But with this it’s simply impossible not to be hopeful.Unfortunately, every ounce of hope he has to give is quickly thrown in his face as his dream evening crumbles around him.Horrible prospects lead to a poor choice which then results in an unfortunate accident.Afterwards, Sean tries as best as he can to deal with the aftermath, but it soon becomes too much, and he flees.Finding himself in New York, Sean gives himself a fresh start, and begins to shape a new life. Everything is getting better. He has friends, he's working through his issues, and best of all, he's become Jack.Three years in the future, he meets Mark.***Alternatively, Jack’s life three years before he met Mark, and everything that happened to make him who he is.This is a prequel to my other fic ‘A Study in Black and White’ so you might want to read that one first. But hey if you're reading my stuff at all I'm extremely grateful :))I hope you enjoy!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my GOD!!!
> 
> AHHH, thank you for reading this!! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and happy New Year!!

Sean Mcloughlin is not a star student on his best day. He doesn’t pay a lot of attention, is often late to class, and never answers a question unless he’s forced to. But he’s clever, and so he makes up for it. He does well in school, has a few friends, and does his best to avoid the general aura of drama that is constantly threatening to choke any high school. 

That’s usually, but today, all bets are off. Sean can barely focus on keeping his leg still, so his classes are out of the question. It’s all quite hectic really, and how his teachers expect him to focus on Calculus is really beyond him. 

Somehow he makes it through the day including all six of his useless classes and his lunch. 

That’s a lie, he actually skips out ten minutes early of his last period class, but he has a note. Plus he’s a senior so no one really gives a damn. 

And so he walks to his locker and takes out a small cinch sack. He’s got twenty minutes to change into his suit and meet up with his art teacher to walk over to the gallery. 

He changes pretty quickly, and yeah he could use the next 15 minutes or so to actually prepare and maybe be early for once in his damn life but why would he do that?

Sure if he were responsible and smart he would, but the truth is Sean is still in a state of semi-denial. He knows he needs to accept this, and hell, be thankful for it, but his brain is barely able to process the date, May 2nd 2013, let alone the meaning behind it. 

And God he’s just so fucking nervous, because yeah his painting is about to be displayed in an actual gallery, but more than that he’s about to show his parents, who are probably the most skeptical, and cynical people ever. He knows it’s dangerous to expect a lot from them, but he can’t help it. Hope has raised his expectations to an unprecedented level. With expectations high, his dread is even higher. So he sits in the bathroom of his school and unscrews the cap from a bottle of whiskey. Taking a swig, Sean wrinkles his nose. It’s cheap stuff, but it’s got a high percentage so he takes another. He needs to relax. Tonight needs to go right, and it won’t if Sean continually sticks his foot in his mouth because of nerves. 

So he shuts his eyes and takes another sip. 

With the liquid courage beginning to flow through his veins, Sean stands and brushes himself off. His art teacher, Mr. Walsh, wants to walk him over to the gallery and is probably waiting outside now. Sean sighs and exits the bathroom, looking at the bottle in his hands. He shoves it in the bag with his clothes and hopes it won’t slosh around too much. 

Exiting the bathroom he locks eyes with Mr. Walsh. The man is in his thirties or forties, salt and pepper colored hair quickly encroaching upon the natural light brown. His face is taken up mostly by a rather large mouth that forms a sort of half-smile even its neutral position. 

“Took you long enough, Sean. Never picked you for the vain type.”

“And I never picked you to be the type to make it through university let alone get a PhD but here we are.”

“Sean?”

“Yeah?”

The man reaches over and hits the boy lightly in the back of the head. “Stop talking and start walking.”

***

“Ah shite, we’re running late.” Sean grumbles as he starts to run, Mr. Walsh hot on his heels. 

Laughing the older man shakes his head. “Well it’s your own damn fault, I’m not the one who took three hours in the bathroom am I?”

“Yeah but you’re the one who only got me out of class ten minutes early.”

“You only needed five and we both know it.” He says, breathing a bit heavily as they cross the street. “I can’t really be held accountable.” 

The two abruptly stop in front of the gallery. Straightening up, Sean turns to enter when a strong hand is placed on his shoulder. The art teacher spins the teenager around.

“Look Sean, I know we mess around a lot, but I am really proud of you, okay? I know you’re nervous but you deserve this.” He offers Jack a lopsided grin that Sean easily returns. “Now go in there. You deserve this.” 

Sean offers a bigger, more lopsided grin and bumps fist with the other man. “Thanks.”

And with that, he takes a deep breath and enters the small gallery. His heart is beating faster than it ever has before, and when he stands in front of his own painting he loses his breath a little bit. For a moment, time seems to stop. This is real. His painting is being displayed because someone thought it was good enough. That he was good enough. So he repeats it to himself. He deserves this, he deserves this, he deserves this...After a while he starts to believe it too. The feeling of timelessness fades away as quick as it came, and Sean is forced to turn around and face the ever growing crowd. The longer he watches them, the more the unease morphs into excitement. He’s still not sure whether to believe this or not. It could so easily be a dream. He wants to believe it’s true, but for some reason that’s really hard. 

“Son, is this your painting?”

Sean blinks, clearing his daydream away as an older gentleman appears in his line of sight.

“Uh, yeah.” Sean clears his throat. “Yes, this is mine.”

“It’s wonderful, I love your use of brushstrokes to create texture and space. It’s magnificent.”

Sean blinks a little, trying to be sure he’s hearing properly. “Uh wow, thank you very much sir.”

The man grins and offers a card. “I’ll be in touch Sean.”

Sean is breathless again, looking down at the small piece of cardstock with writing on it. The words blur a bit as he zones out. 

He’s not able to daydream for long though, as soon, people are shaking his hand and offering congratulations, and asking for photos, and it makes Sean get a warm feeling he never wants to let go of. 

Eventually, a newspaper reporter even comes up and takes a few photos, and asks a few questions and even offers her congratulations. 

His heart swells again. 

Truth be told, Sean is a little lost in it all. He’s excited, thrilled really, that people seem to like his work so much, but the only people Sean really wants to see and hear congratulations from, are nowhere to be seen. And it’s then that the worry starts to set in. It’s a little seed of doubt starting in the pit of his stomach and worming its way up to the rest of him. He’s starting to regret inviting them. He hopes they don’t show up. He wishes that-

“Sean, what’s all this.” 

Sean opens his eyes, seeing a man and a woman in front of him. Specifically, his parents. 

“Ma, Dad, you came.” Suddenly he’s glad they came. All feelings of doubt melting away. They’ll be proud of him. He just knows it. He straightens up and smiles. “This is my painting. I did it for Mr. Walsh’s class-”

His mother looks at him strangely. “And it’s being displayed in a gallery?” 

Sean hesitates, suddenly unsure of how to continue. 

“Your mother means to congratulate you. This is wonderful Sean.”

Sean’s smile returns, but only for a moment. 

His mother sighs and shakes her head. “There’s really no time for this Michael. Listen Sean, please don't take this the wrong way. This is wonderful, it really is, but you have to know this isn’t realistic! Painting is a hobby, not a career.” 

“Stop.” Sean says, shaking his head. He doesn't want to hear this. He can’t hear this right now. 

“And listen, you can still do this on this side, but-”

Sean isn’t listening, at this point he’s doing everything he can to end this conversation. He wants it to be over he wants them to leave he wants to return to five minutes ago. 

But it’s not ending, so he just tunes it out. 

“...And even if it were realistic, we just can’t afford to send you to University right now.” 

Sean’s eyes snap up to hers. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

She gives him a look. “Please Sean, don’t be so dramatic, you’ll be keeping the farm in the family.”

Sean looks incredulous. “Are you fucking serious? What about Conor, and fuck, even Jen? Why can’t they keep the farm in the god damned family. Jen would fucking love it.”

“Watch your language young man.” 

“I don’t need to! Since we’re apparently going to be living together for the foreseeable future, you can watch it for me!” Sean’s breathing is tagged and he feels control slipping through his fingers. Tonight was supposed to be a good night. He can feel it falling apart as he turns around and runs his fingers through his hair.

“Look Sean, I know how hard this is to hear, and I’m truly sorry that you have to hear it at all, and sorrier that it has to be tonight because this really is amazing. Don’t let your mother make you think we’re not proud of you, because we are. But we also have to look out for you, and that means being realistic. We’re not saying no to University forever, maybe in a few years you can go, but for now we could really use your help.”

Sean shakes his head again. 

One night, that's all he wanted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!! Thank you so very much for all the support :)) I'm posting chapter two (unedited) so it looks like I'll be updating on Fridays! 
> 
> Next two weeks I don't know if I'll be able to update but I'll try my best :))
> 
> Thanks so much :)(

Sean is stuck somewhere between dread and anger. 

The dread is heavy in the back of his throat. It’s a dull ache and it makes Sean want to close his eyes and curl up in his bed. It’s every bad memory, and every horrible feeling balled into one and weighing him down. 

The anger is hot in his stomach. Its heat licks his insides and threatens to make him explode. He wants to burst out of this situation that makes him feel so very trapped. He wants to escape. 

“Sean, we’re so sorry…” His father trails off, causing Sean to look up and meet his eyes. He can see the remorse in his father’s face, and Sean knows he is sorry, but Sean’s not in the mood to be forgiving. He’s angry, and upset, and he can feel bitterness seeping in and threatening to taint the evening even more. “We know this isn’t what you wanted, and we know that it’s not fair, but sometimes you’re only given one option in life, one path. You can walk down the path and hopefully reach a more pleasant destination, or you can try to cut through at every possible chance. And sometimes you can make a new path, but sometimes you just have to grit your teeth and do the unpleasant thing. And like I said, maybe in a few years the financial situation will be different. Maybe in a few months they will be.” 

From behind him, his mother sighs. “Michael don’t give him false hope. Listen Sean, I know you have dreams, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices. I’m not going to lie to you. It’s unlikely we’ll ever be able to pay for university for you, and even if we could I truly doubt that we would pay for some art school that will leave you living in our house again four years later. So please, just be a little bit selfless and help us out. Be an adult about this Sean.”

Sean meets her eyes and the two have a silent stare off. He tries to find the right words, any words. 

He opens his mouth but falters. He feels dizzy and overwhelmed all of a sudden, like someone just pulled the carpet out from under him and he landed on his ass and got the wind knocked out of him.

Finally, Sean regains his composure and shakes his head. “Whatever. I need air.” And with that he pushes through the throngs of people, making a desperate escape for the door. 

When he reaches the glass doors, he bursts outside, the doors shutting behind him with a quiet whoosh. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. 

Currently, he’s unable to identify any of his emotions, they’re all swirling around inside of him, nameless and warring. 

And yet… despite his inner turmoil, he can’t help but feel alive. 

The sun has set, and the moon is bright, and the air is crisp and clear, and he just feels so invigorated. For a moment nothing matters. He is nothing. And like nothing, he is void of emotion. He is a smooth surface that all problems and worried slip over and seem unable to grab a hold of. Because nothing is untouchable.

Shaking his head, the feeling begins to dissipate, and Sean starts to walk. Each step he takes leaves the feeling of nothingness farther away, and brings all of his emotions flooding back. Thi time they’re loud and demand to be listened to, almost as if they know they were just ignored and want payback. They claw his insides and make each step heavy. He shakes his head again, pushing the sea of emotions back down. He is in charge, and he doesn't have to listen to them. So he walks faster. Away from the gallery, and his stupid parents, and everything he’s afraid of. He walks even faster, and soon he's running. He’s so overwhelmed, he's angry, and sad, and confused, and hurt, and jealous all at the same time. Even quieted, the commotion demands constant attention. Sean shoves it down farther. Finally, it’s quiet enough that he can think, and try to sort everything out. It’s the jealousy, he realizes, that is leaving a sour taste in his mouth. A tiny voice in his head, relentless and determined to push him over the edge, continues to point out that all of his other siblings got to do what they wanted. Every single one of them is off doing what they want. None of them were asked to make sacrifices. Sean knows he has to be grateful, he’s always had friends, and food on his plate, and a roof over his head, and a family, even dysfunctional as they are, that love him. But at the moment, he can’t think positively. He’s unable to be grateful. The only thing he can be is bitter, for this is a common theme. He’s the youngest, so he gets to watch as his older siblings have adventures and follow their dreams, and when it’s finally Sean’s turn, the supplies have run out, dwindled away after years of use. Perhaps that’s a bit dramatic, but at the moment, rationality is thrown to the wind. 

Stopping to catch his breath, Sean breathes raggedly and tries to focus on anything else. He takes deep breath after deep breath and finally lightly slaps his cheeks. 

It’s then he realizes that he’s crying. He laughs out loud, hollow and dead. angrily, he swipes his cheeks and then straightens. He’s close to home, so that’s his goal. Just make it home and deal with the rest later. He takes another deep breath and forcibly removes all other thoughts from his brain, leaving it only with a destination. Home. So he starts to run again, acting on autopilot and trusting his muscle memory to get him there.

His trust is not misplaced, and soon he's standing at the end of his driveway. From here he’s unable to see the house, but he knows where he is. He exhales and continues. His mind repeats his goal and he starts to walk. He’s tired. The gallery is in town and Sean’s house is out in the middle of nowhere. His strength is leaving him, seeping into the earth. However, seeing the familiar mailbox, bent and rusty, gives him an adrenaline boost, and he runs the remaining distance to his door. HIs heart is pounding, his feet ache, and he’s out of breath, but he made it. Even though the goal was small and insignificant, there’s a sense of accomplishment that keeps him going and pushes him on. 

He climbs the steps and fumbles for his key, hands shaking as he unlocks the door, almost dropping the key. Luckily, he doesn't, and he's able to trudge up to his room without interference. With every step he feels lighter. He’s so close. 

He bursts into his room, and suddenly the stupid suit is choking him. It’s smothering him and forcing all of the air out of his lungs. He’s drowning in well sewn fabric and he needs to get free. Clawing at his throat he rips off his tie, and then his Jacket. He fumbles with the buttons a bit, getting his shirt off and throwing it on the bed in a heap with his jacket and tie. Able to breathe again, Sean takes a deep breath, and then another. Calmed, he rummages in his bag for the whiskey. He slogs down the remainder of the bottle in two gulps. It tastes just as cheap as it did before, but undertones of desperation and hopelessness make their way into his mouth as the liquid burns his throat. 

He feels moderately better. The sadness is gone, leaving only jealousy and anger to duke it out for dominance. This is an improvement, and Sean can feel the relief in every fibre of his body. 

Taking a deep breath he begins to hang up his suit. He drapes the tie over the shoulder, and painstakingly folds the shirt making clean, sharp, creases. He puts everything away, and it makes him feel better. A bit more in control. 

Sean’s fumbling around in his closet for a t-shirt and pants when his phone starts to ring. He grabs a shirt and pulls it on before retrieving it from the bed. It's his mum. He doesn't answer. She doesn't leave a message. 

Her face on his screen awakens a new feeling, a raw emotion to join the bunch. Truth be told it’s not even a feeling, really, it’s an urgent, obligatory, petty need for revenge, and suddenly Sean is plotting. It’s all consuming and he can think of nought else. He has options. There’s his mum’s favorite china, a wedding present, which would be so easy to smash. It would soothe his anger a bit, however, she would be more angry and likely make Sean buy her new ones, and that’s not what Sean wants. He doesn’t want her angry he wants her to feel tired, like everything she’s done has been a waste. He wants something that will make them feel the way he is right now. Hopeless. He wants them to work and work and work and have nothing achieved.


End file.
